The Bar (Credit: Author)
Now Playing: Crucify You – The Depreciation Guild
An early soundcheck is always a lucky break. By virtue of our other guitarist, Cory White, being on the events committee, we have access to our performance space for these campus parties. One of the things I love about Bishop is the school’s eagerness to showcase up and coming artists from the student body. Clubs and organizations book bands for their parties. Even the frats seldom use DJs unless they’re at a last resort. And any students who stick around for the summer months find gainful employment at restaurant patios and other outdoor venues open during the summer months. Grantchester isn’t a huge tourist destination with Cape Cod relatively close, but we do okay.
“So man, how are we going to kill the remainder of our time?” Martin slings his arm around me.
“I’m grabbing dinner with Jordan.”
“We just ate!” Martin huffs in an approximation of me when I say that to him in exasperation about eight times a week.
“No, you ate. I stole a mozzarella stick and a couple of fries.”
Martin repeats his huff with greater exaggeration to underscore his point. This his face turns unhappily accepting. “Go eat out with your girlfriend.” The ‘with’ lacked the same volume as the rest of the sentence. Smartass.
I hit him in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ow, you dick!”
“Later bro,” I touch two fingers to my brow in mock salute as I waltz out the door.
I haven’t been dating Jordan for very long. We met at the end of school year bash, where the Accidental Warlocks played their final show before graduation sent our keyboardist and bassist back home. Cory’s got another year left in town, so he stayed with Martin and I when we formed our current outfit, but I know that once this year comes and goes, we’ll be searching for a new guitarist.
Jordan approached me after the show to compliment me on Taylor Swift’s “Style” we covered that that night on request of the aforementioned outgoing keyboardist. Taking inspiration from a video I saw, I added a guitar solo to the song. It went over well, seeing as it won me a date.
Jordan is a volleyball player, in her senior year as well. A top flight student, majoring in chemistry with dreams of conquering the world. She’s everything I’m not: athletic, academically inclined, STEM-oriented, outgoing, ambitious, and well-put together. I don’t know if I’m just a fascination for her or not, but I like her.
I just don’t know if I love her. Still, my heart warms to see her face when she opens the door to her dorm.
“Hey cutie!” She hugs me tight and plants a kiss on my cheek, “Missed you!” She’s well toned and it’s comfortable. I accept the fact that I am a bit squishier, though I don’t exactly advertise it. When she came back in late July to prep for the season and we spent time on the beach, she was in a bikini and took great pictures she was proud of. I did a classic jeans, t-shirt, and aviators with a guitar look. She took the opportunity to snap a few of me, claiming that my miniscule social media presence was sorely lacking. I’m not great in front of the camera, but she managed to capture one I really liked where I was sat down, staring into the distance with the waves crashing in the background. It became my profile picture everywhere.
“Missed you too. How much time do you have? I figured I’d take you for dinner before the show,” I offer. She grins a perfect grin. Her teeth are in immaculate condition. She grew up with fewer late night Doritos and soda infused game nights when she was growing up than I lived. The night Martin and I beat Halo 3 on Legendary together cemented us as legends around the school for all of two weeks.
“Sure, where’d you have in mind?”
“The Wolf’s Den!” I offer a cheery smile to punctuate my suggestion. Her smile vanishes and her shoulders sink, rolling into a full slouch.
She groans, “Fine, but I’m getting two desserts and you can’t stop me.” With that, she practically skips off.
Jordan is entirely too perky. Maybe it’s just that I’ve been in a seemingly unshakable storm for several years, but I don’t get how people can be as cheery and pleasant the she seems to be all of the time. We haven’t delved enough into our respective psyches for me to get a lot of insight, so I wonder if it’s just that I’m too melodramatic. Which is a real possibility. Alternatively, she’s really good at hiding it, or I’m unobservant as hell. Also strong possibilities. Whatever the reason, it still doesn’t stop me from feeling distant from her at times. Maybe I really am just the moody musician boyfriend for her. I guess I’m fine with being arm candy.
“You know my tan has gone to hell out here since I got back?” California’s daughter teases me in a way I’d find annoying coming from just about anyone else.
“Summers, don’t even try to convince me that the west coast is better.” A wry grin crawls across my face. Our favorite debate.
“West coast best coast is statement they make all the time. Lana Del Rey, Katy Perry, and so on and so forth, they’re all singing about Cali.” She points at me with a cocky grin like she won the battle in one stroke. “The Eagles!”
Hotel California is a masterpiece, I don’t give a shit if it’s overplayed. She makes a good point there. But I can’t let her get such a tremendous win over me. She brought music into it, that’s my house.
“Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, and like all of the classics,” I retort. “Frank Sinatra.” Damnit, why are all my arguments speaking up for the New York metropolitan area?
“Sinatra lived in Vegas for like forty years,” Jordan fires back.
“What town is he singing about?” I point at her like a basketball player just after he pulled off a half-court shot and doesn’t care if he gets fouled.
“Well, ‘This Town’ is about Vegas.”
Is she right? No, she isn’t. The lyrics never mention any place by name, and I tell her with a smug grin and a tone of even more smug satisfaction. “You’re only saying that because they used it in Ocean’s Thirteen.”
“That’s only because you watch those movies on a loop!”
“Oh, like you’re going to complain about watching prime Brad Pitt and George Clooney dressed in suits on screen for two hours?”
“I never make it through those movies because I always fall asleep. They’re such guy movies.”
She’s right on that front, and I concede as much. The Ocean’s films are total dude films, but they’re awesome. Same thing with some of my other favorites like Heat, Goodfellas, and most of what Christopher Nolan puts out. Though, she found My Cousin Vinny hysterical, so I have a win there.
Movies were my escape in college, when music was too taxing for the day, I’d chill out in my room with a bowl of popcorn and watch all those acclaimed movies that I just never saw when I was younger. Movies became my language when music was too taxing. Now, while Jordan isn’t necessarily only into chick flicks, there is a noticeable lack of overlap in our respective film taste.
The conversation continues about our respective days, ideas at the radio station, and funny stories from practice as we walk off campus and through town to my favorite stomping grounds. The old brick and painted sidings of Grantchester are aglow in a sun drawing nearer to the horizon as the relatively warmth of the day starts to cool while night approaches.
We reach the scratched door to a dimly lit paradise for the damned and doomed and enter.
The Wolf’s Den is a dive bar of the highest magnitude. It’s dirty, and grungy, and caters to the crowd seeking good music, unhealthy food, and cheap booze. It’s practically the band’s home on the weekends. Stained floors, walls clad in posters for different shows, and well-loved pool tables complete the atmosphere at the Firelock Runaways’ standing engagement. Our residency rivals Frank Sinatra’s in Vegas. Or at least it would if this place’s seating capacity got anywhere close to that of the Copa Room.
Despite all that, the food is of excellent quality, the service is top notch, and the people are incredibly friendly. It’s the town’s friend they all love to death but only ever hang out with after dark. Most of her academic seminars or sporting events set me as the fish out of water, so it’s refreshing to have her on my turf for once.
We take our seats at a booth my friends and I usually claim when we come here as customers. As much as I love the Wolf’s Den, I prefer most of my meals elsewhere in town. The Normandie has been Martin’s and my hangout since we were kids, so while the bar is a great place to go, the diner always feels more like home to me. But I’m probably going there after the show, and I’ve been craving the Cajun chicken sandwich from the Wolf’s Den, so I’m getting what I deserve.
“So, you ready for the show tonight?” Jordan breaks the silence after we order and sat looking semi-awkwardly at each other for a little while. Sometimes, those concerns about us not having as much to talk about rear their heads at inopportune times.
“Yeah, I am. You able to come?”
She shakes her head and drops her smile again. “I’m leaving tonight for Ohio. We’re playing a tournament this weekend, so I’ll probably be sleeping on the bus by the time you go on. I’m sorry, babe.”
Truth be told, while I am slightly disappointed by Jordan not being able to make it, I’m not as bothered by her not being able to come as I should be. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m not feeling anything as much as I should, or again, if it comes down to us.
“Don’t worry about it. You made a commitment to volleyball before you committed to me. And at least volleyball gives you scholarship money. I just steal your cheese fries.” To distract from the heaviness of the conversation I don’t feel like getting into right now, I do steal a cheese fry. And eat it in an overdramatic fashion.
“Well, I’m taking some of your chips, so we’re even.”
She grabs a handful of the Cajun chips off my plate and starts eating them one by one, making funny faces with each one that cracks between her teeth. I can’t help but chuckle and smile at her.
Maybe I’m just overthinking it too much.
Ark of the Lost Angels 
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